Sketchbook
by riley-poole27
Summary: Derek Hale and Lydia Martin are regulars at the diner where Stiles works. One night, Derek accidentally leaves his sketchbook behind. Stiles gets curious, and flips through the book. AU
1. Chapter 1

The leather bound book sat forlorn on the tabletop, surrounded by dirty plates and empty glasses. Stiles paused, and picked up the book. He recognized it instantly, having seen it many times before. It belonged to Derek Hale.

Lydia Martin, and Derek Hale were regulars at the diner, a sweet couple that bought lunch nearly every day. They sat in the very back of the room, often studying, or typing on Lydia's laptop. Derek nearly always carried a certain worn-looking leather bound notebook with him. A few times, Stiles had seen Lydia sketching some of the customers. She was really good, in his opinion, good enough to sell in an exhibit somewhere. Lydia kept most of them tucked in between the pages of her textbooks, but sometimes, she'd give the drawings away.

Derek was more withdrawn than Lydia – he'd rarely said a word to Stiles in the four months that they'd started going to the diner. Normally, he'd let Lydia do all the talking, as he'd sit quietly across from her. The man was gorgeous, with his green brooding eyes, and his shock of black hair. He was a tall, muscular man who constantly glared at the world from behind his large eyebrows. Derek often wore tight t-shirts that showed off his amazing arms, and torso. He'd earned the nickname Grumpy Cat due to his intense glares. Stiles rarely referred to the man by that name, mostly it was the line cook and Deidre. Not that anyone in the kitchen staff would ever have the balls to use the moniker in front of Derek. He had a fair amount of stubble on his chin and neck. Derek's rabbit-like teeth stuck out when he smiled. Stiles thought they were kind of endearing.

The first thing Stiles had noticed about Lydia was her strawberry blonde hair. He loved the way it sometimes looked blonde, but usually had that intriguing coppery red colour. Also, her amazing eyes. Her long legs looked great in every outfit she wore, and quite often, Lydia wore bright red lipstick that distracted Stiles when he went to take their order. All in all, they were both a magnificent pair, who managed to make Stiles stammer and blush whenever he tried to talk to either one.

He quickly cleared the dirty dishes off the table. Stiles propped the book against the metal salt and pepper shakers so he could clean off the rest of the table. He picked up the bottle of cleaner, and sprayed the tabletop. He wiped it down with his rag, doing a rush job, as he thought about his DVR recordings. He couldn't wait to get home, and curl up on the couch. He picked up the book, and tucked it under his arm as he carried the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

"What you got there?" Deidre, his boss asked as Stiles placed the worn book into the dusty lost and found box.

"Someone left it at the table four," He told her, standing up. "I'm almost done cleaning up, then I'll lock up," he told her, grabbing the broom.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow," She told him, as Stiles hung up his apron, and slung on his blue winter jacket.

Stiles picked up the sketchbook, and stared at the leather-bound cover. It had a large strap on the front, with a metal buckle. The edges of the book were worn, the spine cracked from overuse. Stiles wanted desperately to skim through the book, it was beckoning to him. He'd always been insanely curious as to the contents. Was it a personal diary? Artwork? The next great American novel? Some of Lydia's mathematical equations, perhaps? He _had_ to know.

Stiles carefully pried open the metal buckle in front of the book. He opened to the first page. There was a flowery inscription written with a fountain pen:

_Derek, _

_Hope you can find good use with this sketchbook. I love you forever. _

_Lydia Martin_

Stiles smiled, lightly touching the black ink with his index finger. _How romantic_, he thought. He could easily imagine the amazingly beautiful redhead writing the short-but-sweet message for Derek. He wondered how much the sketchbook had cost. It looked expensive, but the intrinsic value of the thing meant nothing to him. Simply the fact that it belonged to Derek was enough for him to treasure it.

Grinning idiotically in the empty diner, Stiles rubbed the spine, noting how cracked it was from overuse. The edges of the book were frayed, and he touched it, feeling its' texture. He imagined Derek's calloused hands opening the sketchbook all those thousands of times.

When he turned the page, Stiles recognized the sketch as downtown Beacon Hills. He marvelled at the incredibly minute details on the brick buildings, the rusted streetlamps giving off weak, yellow light onto the empty street. There were no cars, or people in the drawing- it looked like Derek had drawn it in the early morning hours.

"Huh," Stiles thought, turning the page. His mouth opened in astonishment. The page was filled with a sketch of two diners sitting at the table, sharing a meal. It was simplistic, and yet – it was so beautiful. He sat down, and set the book on the table. He turned a few more pages, looking at the sketches of birds, deer, people eating a picnic, a woman eating an apple.

On the next page, was a charcoal drawing of Lydia, lying in bed, the blanket pulled up above her breasts. Stiles smiled as he looked at the mischievous smile on her face, and her beckoning hand. Her wavy hair fanned out around her head, catching the light from the window behind her. Stiles blushed, realizing he was seeing Lydia, his customer, in a way more intimate way than he should. Common sense told him to shut the book now, and just give it back to Derek when he saw him tomorrow. Stiles ignored his common sense, and continued to skim through the book. It thrilled him to feel the creamy, white paper, the tiny smudges on the edges where Derek had carefully held its' masterpieces.

Stiles turned the page, and audibly gasped as he stared at the sketch in shock. His face, carefully constructed with smudged charcoal stared back at him. Stiles was unnerved; It was like staring at his own reflection in the mirror. His golden eyes, heavy black lashes, the corner of his mouth upturned in a sarcastic smirk. Stiles' long fingers resting on the countertop, he was wearing his work shirt and his favourite red jeans. Every mole and freckle that dotted Stiles' pale skin was in place. It was remarkable. He turned the page, surprised to see another artistic rendering staring back at him. This time, a crosshatched drawing of him and Scott sitting in a booth. Their hot chocolates raised to their lips. There was a photograph attached with a red paperclip, a photo of Stiles leaning against the cash register, his eyes closed. He wondered when the photo was taken. Stiles guessed it was probably a few months ago, judging by the length of his hair. Stiles had gone back to his old look of buzzcut two months ago, and this picture he still had his long, scraggly hair.

Why did Derek have a photograph of him in his book? He felt both creeped out, and intrigued. He snapped the book shut, and checked his watch. It was nearly midnight. He should've been home an hour ago.

Stiles considered leaving the book in the lost and found box. It was filled with mismatched mittens, and two broken umbrellas, and two detective novels a customer had left behind over the summer. The thought of a work of art like this being left to rot in the mouldy-smelling cardboard box, was a crime. Stiles picked it up, and smiled down at the dark brown cover. He tucked it under one arm, as he locked up the diner.


	2. Chapter 2

For the past year, Stiles had been renting a basement suite from a young couple who had advertised on Kijiji. They had a young baby, and a Rottweiler named Lucy. Stiles was glad he worked during the day, because the sound of the dog's nails clicking against the hardwood floors drove him nuts. Lucy was an energetic dog, and the couple insisted Lucy sleep outside in the doghouse at night-time (otherwise they'd be up all night listening to her whine and make too much noise). The couple, newlyweds Paige and Diana, gave Stiles a steep discount on his rent because he helped babysit one year old baby Jericho in the mornings, and on the weekends. Diana worked long hours as a paralegal, and Paige worked part-time at the hair salon.

It was a pretty good deal - he got free wifi, heat and electric were all included. There was a stove, and a mini fridge in the corner of his room. Stiles had a sturdy computer desk beside his bed, and a blue gooseneck lamp beside his printer. He'd brought his own pillows and comforters from home, decorating his room with all sorts of photos and posters tacked to the walls. Stiles had a bookshelf along the headboard of the bed, and it was crammed full of books, the plastic skull he'd bought a few years ago, and a framed picture of him and Scott at the beach.

Stiles was feeling tired, his feet were sore from being on his feet all day, and he had a massive headache. He flopped down on the bed, and opened the sketchbook. Stiles thumbed through Derek's work, pausing to look at some of his favourites. There was a sketch done in black ballpoint pen of Lydia and Derek slow dancing, her arms wrapped around his neck. Stiles smiled when he saw it.

Near the middle of the book, Stiles found a group of self-portraits Derek had done. He'd taped a filmstrip from a photography booth beside his sketch, each frame showing a different emotion.

Angry, sullen Derek frowning at the camera, looking terrifying.

Derek laughing, his eyes squeezed shut as he gleefully threw his head back.

Derek crying, tear tracks running down his face as he miserably looked away from the camera.

Derek, giving a shy smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

Staring down at the last self-portrait, noticing how relaxed Derek looked. His shy little smile, eyebrows raised high, the man looked genuinely happy. Stiles was unused to seeing such an expression on Derek's face, and he studied it carefully. Finally, he got up and turned on his scanner. Stiles put the book face down on the scanner bed, and shut the lid. He pressed the button, and watched as the images slowly appeared on his computer screen. He knew that Derek would probably be missing his sketchbook by the morning, and Stiles would have to return the man's property during his shift. He scanned each page of the book, and saved them in a folder on his desktop. Stiles wanted to study the artwork further, when he had the chance.

The next morning, Diana and Paige accidently slept in until eight in the morning. He could hear them shouting, as Paige frantically hopped in the shower, yelling to Diana to pack their lunches. Stiles was sprawled out on his bed, passed out. He woke up to Diana urgently knocking on his door.

"I'm running late," She told him. "Can you feed Jericho? I have to get ready for work."

Stiles groaned, and went upstairs. He took the baby from Diana, and strapped him into the high chair. He peeled the foil off the applesauce cup, and dipped the baby spoon into the container. He handed it to Jericho, and watched as the one year old stuck a large spoonful into his mouth. Stiles grimaced when most of the food ended up on the floor. Lucy's tail thumped against the wooden floor, as she licked up the baby's breakfast.

"Gross," Stiles said, giving him a generous spoonful. The baby chortled as he reached up and tried to grab Stiles' backwards ballcap. He jumped back, worried the baby's sticky fingers would get all over his precious Mets cap. No freaking way. He set it on top of the bookcase, well out of the baby's reach.

"Mine," Jericho shouted, pointing his chubby finger at the bookcase. Stiles shook his head, as he popped open a jar of baby food.

"You're cute, poptart, but not _that_ cute," He said, ruffling the child's springy, black curls with his free hand. It was almost time to leave for work, Stiles realized, as he glanced up at the clock. He quickly unclipped the bib, and grabbed the wet washcloth. Jericho howled, as Stiles scrubbed the kid's face and hands. A real bundle of joy, Stiles thought sarcastically, as he undid the safety belt and lifted the kid out of the seat. He settled him on his left hip, gripping the boy tightly as Stiles stepped over the dog and went in search of his roommates.

"Let's go, kid," Stiles said, as Jericho clutched tightly to Stiles' t-shirt with his clenched fists. They found Diana in the upstairs bathroom, hurriedly brushing her teeth. She picked up Jericho, and kissed her son on the forehead.

"Thanks, Stiles," She said, flashing him a grin. "You're a lifesaver. I'm so sorry we overslept this morning – the alarm never went off."

"It's cool," He said, shrugging. Stiles looked down at his shirt, and realized that it was now covered in slobber, and spattered with bits of baby food. He'd have to change his shirt before going to work. Stiles went back downstairs, and changed into a clean outfit. On his way out the door, he remembered to grab Derek's sketchbook. He wrapped it in his work shirt, and shoved it in the bottom of his backpack before flying out the door. Diana was wrestling Jericho into his car seat, so she could drive him to the daycare before work.

"Bye, Diana! Bye, Jericho!" Stiles called out, as he got into his Jeep. He'd just make it to work, so long as the traffic lights were in his favour.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles rushed into the diner, apologizing profusely to his boss for being late. One of Deidre's main pet peeves was when people were late. Normally, Stiles was at least ten or fifteen minutes early. He tied the blue apron over his work shirt, and hopped on till. Luckily, there were two cashiers, himself and a tall, brunette named Daisy.

Sunday mornings were usually pretty crazy at the diner. He busied himself pouring cup after cup of coffee, tea, and juice for his customers. Stiles had his regulars to serve, most of who came in predictably like clockwork every morning. The regulars were the easiest to serve, because for the most part, he had their orders memorized. It was almost noon, and Stiles knew the after-church crowds would be starting soon. Families were coming in for Sunday brunch, and he rushed to seat them.

Stiles was carrying a large stack of dirty plates to the kitchen, when he heard someone call his name. He whipped around to see who was calling him, and awkwardly collided with Derek Hale. Stiles sucked in a breath, as he took a step back.

"Hi, sorry," Stiles squeaked, his voice way too high-pitched. Stiles gulped, and could feel his face burning in embarrassment. "Sorry, I – I wasn't paying attention. I didn't mean to –"

Derek stared down at him, his eyebrows raised in confusion. Finally, he put up a hand to stop Stiles' babbling.

"Actually, it was my fault. I just wanted to ask you if you'd found my sketchbook last night," Derek said, following Stiles to the cash register. "Do you guys have a lost and found?"

"Yeah," Stiles told him. He rushed into the kitchen, and wiped his sweating palms against his apron. Stiles pulled the large book out of his backpack, and brought it back to the counter. Derek's eyes lit up when he saw the book.

"Thanks," Derek said, giving a small smile. "I'd like to order a poppyseed muffin, and a tea, please." He watched Stiles nervously ring in the order, noticing how Stiles could barely meet his eyes, as his fingers flew on the keyboard.

"That'll be $4.35," Stiles told him, giving Derek an awkward grin. Derek handed him a ten dollar bill, and waited patiently while Stiles scooped up the handful of change. He placed the money in Derek's outstretched hand, and blushed when his fingers brushed against Derek's palm.

"Have a great day, sir!" Stiles squeaked, inwardly wincing. God, he sounded like a little mouse. Get a grip, Stiles. "Will that be to go?" Stiles asked, breathless. "Uh, your table – It's taken." He tried desperately to not stammer, and embarrass himself any further. Stiles glanced across the diner, fully aware that Derek's usual table was taken by a group of teenagers eating French fries, and playing magic cards.

Derek arched an eyebrow. "I'll sit here," He said, gesturing to the empty stool beside the register. "I know it's crowded today."

"Oh, right," Stiles said, giving him a small smile. "Yeah, that's cool too."

Derek watched Stiles rush around, returning with a scalding tea and his muffin. All the times Derek had ordered from him, the kid had rarely said a word to him. He wondered what had changed. He ripped off the top of his muffin, and crammed a large piece into his mouth. Derek could feel Stiles watching him intently, as he opened his sketchbook to a fresh page. He pulled out the box of pencils from his jacket pocket.

"What?" Derek asked, annoyed.

"Nothing," Stiles said. He wanted to ask about the photograph, but he didn't know how to bring it up.

Over the next two hours, Stiles worked furiously ringing in orders, and clearing the tables. The entire time, Derek sat quietly, his head bent over his work. Stiles kept glancing at him, curiosity gnawing at him. What was Derek working on? Another sketch? Finally, Stiles grabbed the broom, and started to sweep up the dirt that had been tramped in on people's boots. The floor did actually need sweeping, but mostly he was using it as an excuse to look at Derek's work. He slowed down when he got close to him. Stiles peered over Derek's shoulder. He was drawing a hummingbird.

"That's really nice," Stiles said, leaning his chin on the top of his broom. "You're great."

Derek stopped, and covered a hand over his handiwork. "I don't like showing people my work," Derek growled, glaring at him. "It's personal."

"Even if I'm the subject?" Stiles asked, nervously. He watched as Derek turned around to face him. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Stiles finally blinked, and looked down.

"I looked through your book last night," Stiles admitted. "I saw the sketches you drew. You're really good." He walked around the counter, and rested the broom against the wall.

"You looked through my sketchbook?" Derek asked, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"I got curious. Obviously, I was surprised to find that photograph of me," Stiles smirked. "Did you take that?"

Derek turned bright red. "Lydia took that picture on her iphone," He said. "I was trying to sketch you one day, so she took a picture so I could use it later for reference. Sorry."

"Why did you choose me?" Stiles asked, bluntly. "There's plenty of strangers coming and going in this place every day."

Derek sipped his tea. It had gone cold an hour ago, and it tasted horrible. "I find you aesthetically pleasing," He replied.

"WHAT?" Stiles spluttered, leaning forward. His hands pressed against the countertop, as he grinned widely at the man. "Did you really just say that?"

"It's not a big dea," Derek told him. "I just needed inspiration for one of my projects, and I saw you at the counter."

"You didn't think to ask me?" Stiles asked.

"Should I have?"

"Yes," Stiles emphasized, nodding energetically. He gave Derek a small grin.

"Okay, Stiles. Can I draw you?" Derek asked him.

"Sure," Stiles said. "Is this like, a hobby or something?"

"Art college," Derek said. "Me and Lydia are taking an art class."


	4. Chapter 4

"Is there room in that class for more students? I'd love to learn to draw like that," Stiles told him. "Your work is amazing. I mean it."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "It's mid-way through the semester, it's too late to join." He put down his pencil.

"Oh." He hadn't thought of that. "Well, can you teach me, then?" Stiles asked, hopeful. "I could pay you."

"You really want to do this?" Derek asked.

"Yes."

"Tell you what, if you model for me, I could give you a few free lessons," Derek suggested. "Like a trade."

Stiles grinned at him. "Yeah, sure."

They were interrupted by Deidre. "Stiles, I need you to finish cleaning up tables," Deidre said, giving him an annoyed look. "I'm not paying you to socialize."

Derek closed his book, and pocketed his pencils. "Well, I should be going," He said. Derek stood up, and put on his jacket. "Next time I drop by, maybe we can work out a good time for you to model for me."

Stiles nodded, gratefully, as he watched Derek leave.

Derek walked into his apartment, and sat down on the bed. Lydia was curled up with a book, her reading glasses perched on her nose. He gave her a quick kiss, and wrapped his arm around her.

"So I got my sketchbook back," Derek said, glancing at her. "I left it at the diner last night."

Lydia glanced up at him. "Yeah?" She said.

"Stiles found it. I went back there, and thank god, it was safe and sound," Derek told her. "But you'll never guess what happened! Stiles went through my book. He found all those sketches I did of him."

Lydia started laughing at the stricken look on Derek's face.

"It's not funny! I nearly had a heart attack when he confronted me!" Derek told her, laughing.

"Was he creeped out? What did he say?" She asked, interested. Lydia stuck her bookmark to mark her spot, and set it on the floor. "Tell me what happened."

"Well, he was watching me draw, and kept asking to see my work. So I told him it was kind of personal, and I didn't like anyone to look at my art. And he admitted to looking through my artwork last night."

"What, he just came out and told you?" Lydia asked, smirking. "That takes a lot of guts."

"I still can't believe he went through my book!" Derek told her, as he rolled onto his side. He touched one of Lydia's curls as he talked. "I was shocked, when he told me he'd seen that photograph."

She laughed. "Yeah, I can imagine how freaked out he must've been, when he opened up your book, and saw all those sketches of himself. It'd probably feel a bit unreal."

"I haven't told the best part yet," Derek told her, snuggling closer. "Stiles wants to join the art class, said he wanted to learn to draw as well as I could."

"It's too late in the year," Lydia said, raising her eyebrows. "Well, there's always next semester."

"I offered to give him lessons in exchange for him doing a bit of modelling work."

"Do you think he'll do it?" Lydia asked, excited. "That'd be pretty cool."

"He sounded interested."

Two days later, Stiles drove to Derek's apartment. He'd just finished his shift, and he was tired and sore. But he was mostly excited. Stiles had never done any modelling for anyone, and he was curious how it would turn out. A sudden thought flashed through his mind – what if Derek had meant nude modelling? He didn't think he was quite prepared for that.

"Hi, Stiles," Derek said, letting him in. The loft was huge. Most of the first floor was empty floor space, which was perfect for spreading out artwork, or in today's situation, working with an easel and a model.

Stiles looked a bit nervous. "So, what do I gotta do?" He asked, taking off his jacket. "I've never done this before, obviously."

"I'm just about ready to start," Derek told him. He'd already set out a stack of blank papers, and his lengthy supply of pencils and charcoal. "If you want to just take a seat on the couch. Make yourself comfortable."

Stiles sat down, nervously chewing on his thumbnail as he watched Derek hum quietly to himself, as he started to study Stiles.

"Could you lower your hand, please?" Derek requested. Stiles obliged. Derek and Lydia spent the next few hours drawing Stiles in various poses.

"You need to stay still," Derek told him, slightly annoyed. It was nearly midnight, and Stiles was exhausted. His eyelids were drooping. He yawned.

"I'm trying," He said, putting a hand to cover his mouth. "I'm so sore right now."

Derek glanced up from his sketchbook. "I'm almost done," He said.

Stiles stretched, and cracked his back. He looked around the loft, taking in how empty it was. The loft was sparse, save for the large bed, and a few pieces of furniture. There were strings of Christmas lights nailed to the walls, and a few pieces of artwork.

"Why don't you have more furniture?" Stiles asked. "It's so empty."

"I like it the way it is," Derek told him, frowning. He was trying to concentrate on his work, and Stiles' chatter was distracting. "Could you please resume the pose, Stiles?"He asked.

"Why don't we call it a night?" Lydia suggested, as she lay her pencil down. "Stiles, you look really tired."

Stiles sat at the dining room table, watching as Derek carefully flipped through his artwork. Derek showed him the sketches he'd done that night, from the two sketches, to the charcoal one with shirtless Stiles. The work was phenomenal.

"I like it," Stiles told him, as he slipped his shirt back over his head. "Anytime you need me to model, just ask."

"Think you can sit still next time?" Derek asked, his mouth twisting upwards in a sarcastic smirk. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Ha ha, very funny," He said, as he slipped into his scuffed Adidas sneakers.

"Bye, Lydia," Stiles told her. She gave him a hug on his way out.

"Come over anytime!" Lydia called out, as Stiles followed Derek outside.

"You did fine," Derek told him, as he walked back to his Jeep. "Thanks, you're welcome to come over anytime. Not just for art, I mean, if you ever wanna just hang out or something."

Stiles gave him a surprised look. "Thanks," he said. He raised himself up onto his tip toes, and gave Derek a quick peck on the cheek. "See ya, big guy."

Derek was surprised by the kiss. Stiles was already backing out of the driveway, giving Derek a quick wave as he drove off.


End file.
